THE TWA HERDS； OR， THE HOLY TULYIE
AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE
“Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor,
But fool with fool is barbarous civil war,”—Pope.
O A' ye pious godly flocks,
Weel fed on pastures orthodox,
Wha now will keep you frae the fox,
Or worrying tykes?
Or wha will tent the waifs an' crocks,
About the dykes?
The twa best herds in a' the wast,
The e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast
These five an' twenty simmers past—
Oh, dool to tell!
Hae had a bitter black out-cast
Atween themsel'.
O, Moddie,〖Rev. Mr. Moodie of Riccarton.〗man, an' wordy Russell,〖Rev. John Russell of Kilmarnock.〗
How could you raise so vile a bustle;
Ye'll see how New-Light herds will whistle,
An' think it fine!
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle,
Sin' I hae min'.
O, sirs! whae'er wad hae expeckit
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit,
Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit
To wear the plaid;
But by the brutes themselves eleckit,
To be their guide.
What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank?—
Sae hale and hearty every shank!
Nae poison'd soor Arminian stank
He let them taste;
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, drank,—
O, sic a feast!
The thummart, willcat, brock, an' tod,
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood,
He smell'd their ilka hole an' road,
Baith out an in;
An' weel he lik'd to shed their bluid,
An' sell their skin.
What herd like Russell tell'd his tale;
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale,
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail,
Owre a' the height;
An' saw gin they were sick or hale,
At the first sight.
He fine a mangy sheep could scrub,
Or nobly fling the gospel club,
And New-Light herds could nicely drub
Or pay their skin;
Could shake them o'er the burning dub,
Or heave them in.
Sic twa—O! do I live to see't?—
Sic famous twa should disagree't,
And names, like “villain,” “hypocrite,”
Ilk ither gi'en,
While New-Light herds, wi' laughin spite,
Say neither's liein!
A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld,
There's Duncan〖Dr. Robert Duncan of Dundonald.〗deep, an' Peebles〖Rev. Wm. Peebles of Newton-on-Ayr.〗shaul,
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,〖Rev. Wm. Auld of Mauchline.〗
We trust in thee,
That thou wilt work them, het an' cauld,
Till they agree.
Consider, sirs, how we're beset;
There's scarce a new herd that we get,
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set,
I winna name;
I hope frae heav'n to see them yet
In fiery flame.
Dalrymple〖Rev. Dr. Dalrymple of Ayr.〗has been lang our fae,
M'Gill〖Rev. Wm. M'Gill, colleague of Dr. Dalrymple.〗has wrought us meikle wae,
An' that curs'd rascal ca'd M'Quhae,〖Minister of St. Quivox.〗
And baith the Shaws,〖Dr. Andrew Shaw of Craigie, and Dr. David Shaw of Coylton.〗
That aft hae made us black an' blae,
Wi' vengefu' paws.
Auld Wodrow〖Dr. Peter Wodrow of Tarbolton.〗lang has hatch'd mischief;
We thought aye death wad bring relief;
But he has gotten, to our grief,
Ane to succeed him,〖Rev. John M'Math, a young assistant and successor to Wodrow.〗
A chield wha'll soundly buff our beef;
I meikle dread him.
And mony a ane that I could tell,
Wha fain wad openly rebel,
Forby turn-coats amang oursel',
There's Smith〖Rev. George Smith of Galston.〗for ane;
I doubt he's but a grey nick quill,
An' that ye'll fin'.
O! a' ye flocks o'er a, the hills,
By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells,
Come, join your counsel and your skills
To cowe the lairds,
An' get the brutes the power themsel's
To choose their herds.
Then Orthodoxy yet may prance,
An' Learning in a woody dance,
An' that fell cur ca'd Common-Sense,
That bites sae sair,
Be banished o'er the sea to France:
Let him bark there.
Then Shaw's an' D'rymple's eloquence,
M'Gill's close nervous excellence
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense,
An' guid M'Math,
Wi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance,
May a' pack aff.